[ Peter blinks after the guy practically dismisses him, biting back the instinct to ask, "So do I get your name, or...?"
Bigger fish to fry, of course.
He trails after the doctor as he steps into the bedroom, hovering in the doorway. (And he remembers the smell of antiseptic, the sharp tang of cleaning products. Muffled pages over the PA system. The low hum of conversation and machinery. The buzzing of fluorescent lights—
"You've gotta stay here. Please.")
He wonders if he should keep out of the way, head into the living room to wear a rut in the floor from pacing. (He should leave, he should leave, he should leave—) Silently, he listens to Maw, listens to that clipped, disinterested voice, and he thinks of villains in James Bond films, all cultured and evil.
To the guy's credit, though, he seems to know what he's doing, and he goes about it quickly and efficiently. When the bag of blood comes out, Peter is starting to lean heavily toward, Get out of the way, and he rocks back a little, away from the door frame.
But then Gamora's gaze finds his, and while she's mostly a blank slate, right now, he knows that position can't possibly be easy or comfortable for her.
Peter falters for only a second before he pushes himself forward, moving to Gamora's injured side. He takes hold of the edge of the bag, waiting for her to release it. ]
no subject
Bigger fish to fry, of course.
He trails after the doctor as he steps into the bedroom, hovering in the doorway. (And he remembers the smell of antiseptic, the sharp tang of cleaning products. Muffled pages over the PA system. The low hum of conversation and machinery. The buzzing of fluorescent lights—
"You've gotta stay here. Please.")
He wonders if he should keep out of the way, head into the living room to wear a rut in the floor from pacing. (He should leave, he should leave, he should leave—) Silently, he listens to Maw, listens to that clipped, disinterested voice, and he thinks of villains in James Bond films, all cultured and evil.
To the guy's credit, though, he seems to know what he's doing, and he goes about it quickly and efficiently. When the bag of blood comes out, Peter is starting to lean heavily toward, Get out of the way, and he rocks back a little, away from the door frame.
But then Gamora's gaze finds his, and while she's mostly a blank slate, right now, he knows that position can't possibly be easy or comfortable for her.
Peter falters for only a second before he pushes himself forward, moving to Gamora's injured side. He takes hold of the edge of the bag, waiting for her to release it. ]
I can take care of this.